


Must I Beg?

by KiwiBaer



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Frottage, Idiots in Love, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing, blatant disregard of canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiBaer/pseuds/KiwiBaer
Summary: Jaskier has his pride. It's his last defense against everything shitty in this world and he'll defend it with hysterics to his last breath. Even for silly things. Even for things that weren't really that big of a deal, but still he felt wounded and still. He has his pride.Geralt just likes to tease him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 158





	Must I Beg?

**Author's Note:**

> The name of the word document for this was "So we're writing again and it's THIS, huh"
> 
> Just, uh.... dipping my toes in....

Jaskier’s brow furrowed as he reclined across the quilts on his bed, his crown against the headboard and a bundle of papers upon his lap. The pillow behind his spine kept the lean from getting too sore, but he was hardly comfortable here. Eyes blank, he stared at the pen pinched between his fingers, his mind utterly lost to it. His focus blended to the background, to where his thighs shifted behind the journal. At first, he’d had them spread languidly, bordering the open book as he kept it propped up with his palm. But then he couldn’t think past the twinge low in his stomach at the stretch and openness and what it made him think of. So he dropped one knee, stretching out the leg. From there, he glanced at his bare thigh, dressed only in his smallclothes and the quilt draped over his limbs. He felt hot where the blankets cradled him and dropped his leg over the edge of the bed instead, longing for a breeze. He found a similar issue in this to his first position, the way his hips opened with the movement and shift forward making his muscles tense.

He wanted to rock forward, he wanted to drape his hand over the shape of himself and _squeeze_. He wanted pressure, he wanted heat, he wanted touch—

“Gods.” He hissed through his teeth. Bitterly now, Jaskier yanked his leg back onto the bed, smashing his thighs together. Tried not to focus on the ache. His thighs pressed and he tried not to squirm, to _rub_.

“Hmm?”

Jaskier nearly flinched at the rumbling response, having expected to be ignored just as much as he had before. The way his sighs and huffs had garnered no attention for the better part of the hour. When his attention snapped to the table in the corner of their room, he saw the flash of eyes and hint of teeth he’d been waiting so long for. Geralt hid his smirk in a moment, but not quickly enough that Jaskier couldn’t tell he was being tease. Again.

Geralt’s hum was an inquiring one. Any normal person might have asked ‘what was that?’ or ‘did you need something?’ but instead Jaskier had to decipher a rumble and a head nod. Then the Witcher was turning back to his herbs and his potions, where his attention had been all damn night.

Jaskier bared his teeth at Geralt’s back yet kept his voice sing-song in response. “Nothing to worry about, dear friend. I wasn’t speaking to you.”

If Geralt could catch the biting sarcasm behind Jaskier’s sweet tone, or the emphasis on _friend_ , he gave no sign of it and offered no response. Clearly, he was intent on simply mashing up his leaves and making a paste of whatever-the-fuck, and not on fucking his bard into a paste instead. A well-satisfied, blissed-out paste.

Jaskier nearly whined at the return to silence. And, more importantly, the loss of attention. Instead, he kicked one foot out across the bed with an unrestrained, loud huff. He tipped his head back, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, to all the beaten and worn wood and stains above him. One hand dropped from his book to the mattress holding his weight as he leaned to the side. The book teetered forward and he looked down to his lap now instead, where blood-heat swirled and waited for the second he was touched to fill. Gods, he’d get hard in seconds if Geralt so much as _brushed_ a hand against him.

With a disgruntled shake of his head, he reminded himself why he was here. He thought of his ridiculous partner, sitting over at that ridiculous table with all of his ridiculous fucking plants. Ignoring the talented and sexy bard, literally _squirming_ on their bed. Of course, Jaskier wouldn’t admit he was squirming, or waiting, or desperately wanting. He couldn’t. There was no way in all of the Hells he’d admit to the need coiling at his insides. Not after the _mockery_ he had received earlier that night. When Geralt had stepped into the room and up like an eager pup, Jaskier had sprung to his side. Casting aside his lute and reaching for a sweaty neck and salty lips. It had been a day without him and Jaskier’s heart was full of love and desire and goddamn warmth.

Geralt, the bastard, had chuckled against his lips, low and throaty in the way that was only ever evil and seldom sweet. He, who was most often _silent_ , spoke those words, “Can’t last one minute without me, bard? So eager.”

Oh ho!

Oh, Jaskier had let him have it at that! He’d lasted very much on his own before Geralt had sulked into his life and he lasted just fine now as well. Oh, Jaskier had _words_ for the Witcher. He could handle himself quite alright, in fact, he _valued_ his alone time without the Witcher’s cranky moods and cruel ridicule.

Huffing and tantruming, Jaskier had spit out a mouthful of incensed words and throughout it all Geralt watched him steadily. No change in his expression besides a slowly raised brow. When the bard finally paused for breath, Geralt had hmmed his usual hmm and placed a heavy hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier drew in a deep breath, ready for more, but let it rush back out as soon as Geralt released him and turned to the table. Moved to gather his alchemy. And settled into the chair.

At the first sputter of protest from his bard, Geralt had cast a look over his shoulder and motioned towards Jaskier’s lower body. “You said you handle yourself just fine without me. Go ahead and… handle yourself.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly what he had meant by that. Regardless, the point remained that Jaskier couldn’t admit to needing the damned brute. Not any more than Geralt could admit to his own needs for a companion, or a helping hand or well, dammit. That he _liked_ that Jaskier was always happy to see him returned.

Jaskier felt another whine tense his vocal cords, but kept it from tumbling out by gripping at his papers and yanking them under his nose. This was ridiculous! He was supposed to be composing! The townspeople had given him much material in context to the Witcher’s recent brawl, fighting a few wyvern on the rocky hills surrounding the town. Apparently, an unnamed smuggler had brought the precious eggs through the area in search of a black market to sell them to. A bit too late, as they hatched unexpectedly, killing the crook and terrorizing the crowd.

The story had everything! Drama! Cosmic justice! Geralt tussling with a beastie while wearing his tight, tight leathers. Jaskier had a great verse in mind, singing of the threat from the skies, before all this. Now his mind couldn’t think. There was a buzz along his brainstem, that echoed through crucial nerves.

The bard certainly had a craving for sex that couldn’t be beat on any normal day, a drive that no previous (singular) lover could face. When the need hit him, he’d be thrumming with it, skin tight and his neck on fire. But usually, he could at least take care of himself and regain some of his thoughts. Now even without Geralt turning to look at him, he knew he was being watched. Geralt’s mocking would come quicker than he could, and the thought brought annoyance prickling at his nape instead.

Now, he was getting more frustrated. Staring at his writing material, his thighs slipped back together and crushed the journal shut between them. He couldn’t even look at the words on the page anymore, intimately aware that more than half the page was just angry, horny scribbling. Discussing the might of the White Wolf’s _blade_ , but the cruelty of his intent. His ignorance of the needs surrounding him, his canine teeth that bit and teased—none of this would make it to the end result and looking at it made him more flushed.

Why should he sing for the Witcher when all he got was biting remarks? What did Geralt even _think_ about him and his singing and his eagerness?

“Geralt.” Jaskier groaned, voice dropping into something woeful and miserable. Not only was he already heated and frustrated, but his mind was starting to pull him towards self-pitying and doubt. The Witcher sure made it easy sometimes.

Geralt had the decency to at least look over his shoulder when his bard’s tone hit his ear but didn’t say anything in response. Waiting.

“ _Geralt_.” Jaskier called again, giving in to all instinct and truly whining.

The Witcher stared at him, still having the audacity to look naïve to Jaskier wants. To look curious with his pale brow raised. “Something the matter?” He rumbled.

Jaskier grit his teeth, creases settling deep into the smooth skin across his face. That was it. He was ready to be done with all this, ready to be done with being both angry and horny and a little bit lonely and definitely _distracted_. The Witcher had robbed him of a lot tonight, his pride and concentration most notably, but he was _not_ robbing him of an orgasm.

Tossing the small book of his lap, he rolled out of the quilts and marched over to the table. One of the sheets trailed behind as he dragged it along. Geralt must have smelled his intentions, or just knew his bard well, because the Witcher just managed to shove his alchemy components to the side before Jaskier was climbing onto the table. Jaskier wrapped the sheet around his shoulder’s and rested his feet on Geralt’s thighs. A huff of breath. He waited a beat for the Witcher’s eyes to drop from his pursed lips down his body and then the bard spread his thighs easily, opening up to his lover’s gaze.

“Alright, then.” Jaskier bit out, reaching up to grasp Geralt by his hair. “Go on. Run your mouth. Tell me how needy I am. How I’m a desperate little harlot that can’t last a night without your hands on me. Say it—you’d be right, wouldn’t you?”

Geralt didn’t say any of that. Absent of sound completely, he dropped his head down in an instant to lay kisses on Jaskier’s exposed thigh. Warm hands slid up his unattended leg, gripping into bunched muscles and rubbing along skin that was already much too sensitive. Jaskier sighed with delight under the attention, Geralt brushing his lips and parting them to mouth along a vein.

Already breathless with want, Jaskier carded his fingers through Geralt’s hair and then flinched at the slight pinch of teeth. “Careful—” Geralt grunted, leaving the area to favor Jaskier’s hip instead, biting into the curve of them. This garnered no protest as Jaskier drew in air and groaned, hips tipping into the bite.

Jaskier tipped his head back and balanced his weight onto his free palm. With how quick he was to descend upon the bard, Geralt might not have been as in control of himself as Jaskier had thought. Geralt’s hands were roving all over his body, no holds barred, and while heat followed every touch, Jaskier prickled with one last shred of indignance. Intent to hold out just a touch longer, Jaskier pulled Geralt back by his hair just as the Witcher was tonguing against the crease of his thigh and hip. There was a soft grunt of protest from the man at being removed and when Geralt looked up, the gold of his eyes was eclipsed by lust and dark pupils.

Jaskier tsked gently, feeling a pull in his stomach and his cock swelling. “Next time, dear one, you’re going to be the one admitting to your needs first.”

Geralt’s eyes flashed hot with the challenge. Jaskier realized his mistake a moment too late; instead of reaffirming his pride, he was issuing a promise of more games. _Next time_. Well enough, Jaskier would be more prepared for a next time. He’d play absolutely filthy if he had to.

Not to be ignored himself, Geralt gave Jaskier only a moment to pout, before he pushed his palms into the Bard’s thighs and spread him further apart. Jaskier allowed pale strands to slip from his fingers as Geralt dropped his head back down. A strangled gasp tore from him as Geralt lapped at his covered cock, wet heat seeping through to sensitive skin. Jaskier quickly fell to groaning, Geralt’s tongue pulling roughly along the length of him again and again, each drag of his tongue leaving him wetter. The fabric was soaked in no time.

The bard tipped his head back again and his hips forward. Reaching for Geralt again, he yanked that sinful mouth closer and writhed into the sensation as the torture continued. Confined as he was, he could feel the shape of Geralt mouthing at his cockhead, but damned if he didn’t want those lips actually on him.

“ _Geralt_.” How many times would he have to beg for this? “Are you _actually_ trying to kill me tonight? Because your mouth should be blowing me right now, not just blowing my brains with all this damned _teasing_.”

At the first desperate sound of his name, Geralt had already been working Jaskier’s smallclothes from his hips, yanking them off his arse. But the bard babbled on, lifting a hand to his own forehead to brush away the sweat there and add to his dramatics.

Geralt looked up with a rough curve to his smirk, yanking one last final time and sending Jaskier’s body tumbling back against the table as his hips were pulled out from under him. A grunt left him, finding Geralt’s face again with a scowl. “I couldn’t kill you, Jaskier.” He purred and for a moment, Jaskier felt warm with it. Yet, Geralt continued as he spread Jaskier’s legs wide again. “We both know you’d talk yourself into the grave first.”

Jaskier’s mouth opened, expression markedly enraged, but before he could so much as breathe out a complain, his lips stretched into an ‘o’ and he gasped. “Oh! O— _fuck_!”

Geralt took Jaskier down to the root, sliding his aching cock down his throat with _sinful_ ease and Jaskier was nearly thrashing when his lips settled around the base. The Witcher’s tongue scorched the entire underside of his prick. It was all just heat and pressure and Jaskier’s body went tight so fast he was gasping for breath. There was just something so perfectly _right_ about that mouth, fitting around him like a damn dream. Without a thought, mind a blank slate of desire, Jaskier grasped at the back of Geralt’s head and rocked his hips up wantonly—he knew without a doubt that his Witcher could take it. True enough, Geralt only groaned at the faint thrust, palms roaming higher up Jaskier’s thighs, making more room for himself there.

For a few blessed moments, Jaskier was left to rock himself into the encasing warmth of Geralt’s mouth. Pleasure curled along his spine, rapid and electric.

Jaskier tensed instantly when he felt Geralt resist his hold, head starting to rise back up slowly. He tightened his grip on Geralt’s hair, but allowed the movement warily. He wetted his lips, watching as his lover moved. His cock trembled as Geralt moved away however, left with only a loose, filthy kiss to the glans that he chased with another desperate push of his hips.

Jaskier saw the tilt of Geralt’s lips as he looked up and knew what was about to happen with sudden certainty. He could recognize the brief intake of breath. Before he could even try, Jaskier lunged forward again, now holding onto Geralt’s head with both hands and yanking him back down. His cock rubbed against Geralt’s cheek instead of filling that lovely mouth once more, but Geralt was still held down between the Bard’s thighs. His nose crushed against his pelvic bone as Jaskier hissed with renewed ferocity. “No! No more teasing, Geralt!”

His body was a mass of agitation and he wasn’t above taking control now to get what he wanted. Normally, he wasn’t prone to challenging the Witcher’s whims when he was feeling playful. Any mood Geralt was in when they were together like this had its thrill. But this was proving to be too much for him. Enough was enough.

Geralt peered up at Jaskier steadily after the outburst, eyes still dark with lust and face half smashed into his lover’s thigh. There was a beat between them. Geralt debating, analyzing. Jaskier panted out a sharp breath when he felt a soft lap of his tongue against the base of his cock and sighed when Geralt started leaving lazy kisses up his shaft and reached the tip once more.

Jaskier’s grip gentled, relaxed for merely a moment and then tensing again as Geralt drew circles around the crown and flicked his tongue. Every motion perfect, in that way that sent waves down his thighs and up his spine, left him trembling.

“Right, go—oh fuck. Good. Th-that’s good, love. _Thank_ you.” Jaskier, sated now that it seemed Geralt was cooperating with him, settled back onto his elbow’s, still holding onto Geralt’s neck loosely. Just in case he tried anything further. (Not that it would matter if Geralt truly wanted to do anything to tease the bard more, he could always overpower him in a heartbeat)

With soft, desperate sounds starting to be drawn from the bard again, Jaskier gave another pull to Geralt’s hair. His voice dropped to a whisper of pleasure, only for his lover. “All of it. Take all of it, now.”

Geralt’s gaze turned back up to the bard and he let out a heavy breath through his nose. His response was quicker than expected and Jaskier was choking on his gasps yet again as his cock breached deep into the Witcher’s mouth, enveloped by him.

“Oh-oh!” Jaskier huffed, dropping from his elbows and lying flat. It left him whimpering and squirming into the warmth when movement didn’t come straight away. “ _Darling_.”

He didn’t have to say anymore as the Witcher began to bob his head, throat caressing Jaskier’s electrified nerves and lighting a fire across his skin. More shocks of pleasure echoed through his nerves every time his tongue dragged up and rubbed just right. Jaskier’s toes curled and his feet braced on the edge of the table, given enough leverage to push up fully into that heat.

Moans and sharp gasps were falling easily from the always vocal bard and his thighs were beginning to tense and shake with each downward push Geralt made, shoving the bard’s prick as deep down his throat as he could. Which was entirely everything and without pause as they moved together. The Witcher was skilled in many things, but it was the way he gave head that had Jaskier singing. Sweat gathered at his skin, hot on the base of his neck and his mouth dropped open soundlessly when Geralt took him fast, all the way to the root again.

No more waiting.

Tears gathered in his eyes as Jaskier grasped at the Witcher, holding him onto his cock as his hips rocked arrhythmically and he shoved himself desperately into Geralt’s waiting mouth. Geralt went still against the motions, letting Jaskier chase his release. The tears spilled as he did, eyelids fluttering, and he came hard down Geralt’s throat with a shout.

When his hands fell away, Geralt stayed perfectly still, breath stalled and throat working around Jaskier’s cock to swallow everything down.

Instead of flopping gracelessly to the surface below him as he was wont to do when spent, Jaskier _whined_. Low and agonized. Fingers clawed into silver hair, yanking Geralt away as Jaskier fumbled to wrap his hands around himself. His cock still sticky with his release and Geralt’s saliva, he couldn’t stop as he tightened his grip around the sensitive member and stroked furiously.

Geralt, merely inches away, marveled for a moment, before being yanked up by more urgent grasping and pulled to Jaskier’s lips. A crushing, bruising kiss.

“Again?” Geralt’s voice was a rough growl, breath against his swollen lips, and Jaskier barely registered his words. Nothing but shivers and feeling the way Geralt’s chest rumbled.

“A- _gain_.” He gasped, barely managed, strangled from his own need.

It happened like this sometimes. He waited too long and his need was so great and the first orgasm just wasn’t enough. His blood _boiled_ with the intensity of it, scorched from every touch, overwhelmed to more tears. And yet he couldn’t stop.

He whimpered. “A- _ah_.” Trying to pull his Witcher down on top of him with one hand proved impossible as Geralt resisted and instead reached over their bodies for something nearby. Some of the bottles Jaskier had nearly crushed with his body, barely out of the way enough. His elixirs? “Geralt, fuck, please.”

“Hm?” Geralt murmured, tearing off a cork with his teeth and spilling something into his wide palm. There was the burst of something aquatic smelling, coastal.

“Please.” Jaskier repeated, thrusting his hips up and babbling the words, their meaning distant. “Oh gods, love, please, fuck, Geralt. Darling.” His brain was a mess of static, his first orgasm leaving him fried and the sharp pain of further pleasure buzzing through every inch of his body.

He shook as Geralt parted his straining thighs again and whispered in that same rough, ruined tone. “Let me.” And despite everything, the frustration, the need, his eyes nearly rolling back in his skull, Jaskier dropped his hand away in an instant for his lover.

“ _Oh_.” Jaskier arched into Geralt as the Witcher pushed his cock down against the bard’s roughly, smoothed by whatever he’d spread along himself. Then he was thrusting against him. Geralt with his hand around the both of them and it was shockingly cold and slick between them. Like soothing a burn. Jaskier arched for it, seeking more. Both of their hands were rough with hard earned calluses, but they formed differently across their palms and Jaskier was rocking again, thrusting against the delicious scrape. Moaned for the quick, rough glide of it. Geralt’s brow furrowed, concentrating as he watches the bard squirm and pant and fall apart all over again.

It is not but a moment. The second always comes fast when it comes, born of desperation and aching sensitivity. Jaskier can’t even breathe through it as it hits him, cock spurting quickly in Geralt’s grip. Dribbled warm beneath him and not at all representing the intensity of the waves as his head dropped back and his eyes rolled. He carved his nails into Geralt’s forearm. His mouth opened, no breath, no sound, but looking like he was gasping for it.

When he finally managed a breath, it’s ragged and broken and comes out shaky. Lost to the daze, he shook all over.

His mind floated as he laid there, sprawled across the table. But it came back into sharp focus as wet sounds and a low grunt reached his ears. He followed it, lifting his head slowly to watch as his lover leaned carefully over his body, not touching him but close. The muscles in his bicep shifted as rhythmically, as he must’ve been stroking his cock, the molten gold of his eyes taking in nothing but the sight of Jaskier covered in his own cum. Jaskier couldn’t see him touching himself, the table obscuring the view, but the sight was nearly perfect.

Geralt hummed when their eyes met, acknowledging the lazy smile creeping on his bard’s face. Jaskier’s delighted to see _surprise_ when his grin quickly turned devilish with a new idea, just enough energy to stay conscious now.

“Wait.” Jaskier commanded and lifted one still trembling leg, pushing his foot flat against Geralt’s chest, guiding him away. Geralt followed, straightened to a stand though the noise he let out was one of curiosity. Now, Jaskier could fully take in the sight of Geralt’s hard prick, red and throbbing and absolutely dripping down his fingers. What a pretty, agonized sight it made. Jaskier licked his lips as the large hand engulfing it slowed to a stop as requested. Geralt’s free hand went to circle Jaskier’s ankle, supporting the trembling limb.

His eyes focused on Jaskier’s mouth even as he rumbled, “Jas, you don’t have to—”

“Oh, I’m not!” Jaskier chirped. “I just want you to wait.”

With all the energy he could muster, he pushed himself to sit up, testing the flexibility in his hips as he kept his foot rested against Geralt’s sternum. It was delightful, the way Geralt’s fingers flared at his words, loosening before _digging_ into Jaskier’s fragile joint. He couldn’t keep the impish grin from blooming wider.

Geralt’s quickened breath didn’t slow, though the cause of it shifted quickly from exertion and arousal, to frustration as realization dawns beautifully on his face.

“You can’t be fucking—”

“Serious?” Jaskier interrupts again, finally pulling his foot free and perching at the end of the table. He wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders of his lover, drawing him in for an embrace. Angles his hips to avoid any collision against truly oversensitized flesh. “Quite.” Geralt gives a half-hearted attempt to pull away, but Jaskier doesn’t release him. “You made me wait, dear heart, for the prize I wanted. Now, I’m asking you to do the same. If you’re going to be cumming anywhere tonight, darling, I want it to be _in_ me. So you’ll just have to wait until I’m ready to go again, yeah?”

Geralt cast a dubious look down between them at Jaskier’s spent cock and back to Jaskier’s eyes with a scowl. Oh, what fun.

“It’s only fair.” Jaskier added, tone thick from playfulness as well as bridging exhaustion. Perhaps a nap then, and then he’d be ready to go. Or maybe Geralt really wouldn’t be getting anything out of him tonight and the Witcher would be _bestial_ with lust come morning. As tempting as that image was, he figured to save it for a later date with how frayed they both were then.

The raise of Geralt’s brows suggested there was nothing _fair_ about this deal, considering one of them had gotten twice the orgasms and all of the fun. Jaskier appeased him with a slow languid kiss, arms tightening further around him. His voice dropped impossibly lower and truly, despite his fatigue, Jaskier knew how to play at seduction.

“Come now, darling.” He purred, running his fingers along the knobs of Geralt’s spine. The Witcher shivered at the touch. “Where’s that Witcher endurance? Won’t you be good for me?”

There was a moment longer where the tension lingered in Geralt’s shoulders. And then abruptly released as he heaved a sigh of frustration. “Damn you.” He grunted and bit at Jaskier’s shoulder in punishment, eliciting a gasp from the bard.

Jaskier’s smile turned coy as he held onto his Witcher ever tighter and turned his face into the white cascade of his hair. As much as he loved teasing his dear partner, there was also innocent delight curling around his heart. It was gratifying knowing he was able to make such requests and be listened to. Geralt could just as easily have stepped away and sought his own pleasure regardless of Jaskier’s command. But Geralt believed in him. He entrusted so much of himself (his body, pleasure, release) to Jaskier, knowing that if he waited, if he was _good_ , Jaskier would take care of him.

And _oh_ would Jaskier take care of him. Beautifully, until the Witcher was a glorious pool of muscle, groans and throbbing heat beneath him. As soon as his body could handle the strain of it again.

He was rather certain he wouldn’t get another orgasm out of tonight, but he certain wanted to wring one from his lover with cries of passion on his lips.

They sat there in each other’s arms for a moment, Jaskier basking in trust and body heat and Geralt calming his own anatomy down with the soft growls of annoyance. It wasn’t easy with such a sexy, talented genius of a man in his lap, Jaskier was sure.

Eventually, though, Jaskier felt his mind hazing, his arse starting to ache not-so-delightfully on the hard surface of the table. He peppered kisses against the tense jaw of his straining lover, and looked up with a soft expression.

“Dear one.” Jaskier whispered, pulling back to see those fierce eyes he so adored. The glow of them he’d written odes to while watching across a campfire. Even before they were entwined like this. When it was just him and his endless hope and overflowing adoration. His mouth curved, full of love and promise for this monster hunter who hunted and claimed his own romantic heart. Who trusted him and truly made life worth living. “Let’s take to the bed.”


End file.
